A Song Of Subs And Fenders
by ShipMatesKE
Summary: Set in NYC and L.A. circa nowadays, follow the major families you know and love as they battle for Grammys instead of the Iron Throne. Sansa is an up-and-coming pop star, Joffrey is a J. Biebs figure, Jon misses his dead girlfriend, Ned & Catelyn struggle to run their nightclub, and Gilly & Sam work at a dive bar known as The Wall. Who will win the EGOT first?
1. Sansa: The Distance

Nepotism displeased her, at least when it benefited herself. Because of this, the fact that Sansa was playing her first real show at Winterfell felt unjust. More than that, though, everything felt like a surreal amalgamation of nostalgia and possibility, as if Sansa stood on the edge of her childhood and the threshold of her career as a musician at the same time.

The crowd was uproarious. Not to see Sansa, but because it was a Friday at Winterfell, when things were always loud. Sansa had spent more than a few nights of her childhood in the manager's office, and even on Tuesdays the noisiness of the club had caused her to struggle to finish her homework. The venue, a warehouse that had been renovated going on three decades ago, was always noisy to the point of distraction. But when someone was performing… Well, it was an honor to play here tonight, no matter the fact that her father owned the famed New York City nightclub.

"You ready?"

Sansa turned around to see her brother Robb smiling at her. He resembled their father's side of the family more with his wavy dark hair, while Sansa sported a long, straight, red mane. A lone singer, she'd needed a back-up guitarist for the night, and Robb was the first person she thought to ask. Of course, her half-brother Jon would have garnered a larger crowd – he had a fan base of his own already – but this night was about _her_ performance… Not to mention, she got on far better with Robb than she did with Jon.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Sansa said with a small smile. At sound-check earlier, things had gone well. She'd sang with Robb plenty of times growing up, so they already had that connection. "Thank you so much for supporting me tonight, Robb, even if things go horribly."

Robb's smile turned to a smirk and he rolled his eyes, bringing Sansa in for a hug. He was tall, but so was Sansa, so her head rested comfortably on his shoulder as she returned the affection. "You're gonna kick ass out there, little sis," he told her. "Now come on. Let's get out there."

Sansa whirled around to see that the stage lights had indeed turned on. From their view in the wings, she could see the MC, a spunky-looking girl with colorful hair, trotting up to the mic. "Ladies and gentleman!" she called. "Give it up for our performer tonight, Sansa!" Sansa couldn't help but smile abashedly. She'd hoped they would leave her last name out. Her family didn't embarrass her; she loved being a Stark. But again, nepotism and all that.

Robb led the way, heading towards his stool and guitar. Sansa took a deep breath, thrust her shoulders back, and then power-walked her way across the stage to the mic as the MC exited stage right. _You can do this, Stark_ , she said to herself, letting out her breath.

For a split second, Sansa was caught in the spotlight, staring out at the crowd. She could barely see them against the glare, but they were there all the same, most quieting down to hear her perform. The vibe of Winterfell depended on the performance on stage. She could wow them with a spectacular performance, drawing all attention to her, or just provide fun background music and let the crowd do its own thing. But Sansa wasn't here to make background music. She was here to be a star.

Her sound was a little softer than what Winterfell was used to, but she wasn't going to change who she was. On YouTube, the videos that had gotten the most hits were all of her covers. Sansa knew she at least had that going for her. She did covers like no one else could. With a nod at Robb to start strumming on his plugged-in acoustic, she began.

 _"Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now_

 _Our song on the radio, but it don't sound the same._

 _When our friends talk about me I hope it just tears you down_

 _'Cause my heart broke when you left that day_

 _And it all just sounds like, "Oooh."_

 _I was too young, too dumb to realize_

 _You never bought me flowers, you never held my hand_

 _Never gave me any of your hours while you had the chance_

 _Never took me to your parties, and you knew I loved to dance_

 _Well now, baby, I'm dancing, but I'm dancing with a better man"_

At the pause before the next verse, Sansa strained to listen over Robb's guitar. People were talking, but in hushed tones. She had to pull the microphone from the stand and strut across the stage to keep from jumping up in down with excitement.

 _"Your pride, your ego, your needs and your selfish ways_

 _Caused a good strong woman like me to walk out your life"_

She went in for the kill now, raising her voice, pouring her passion into the song, forgetting about the crowd and focusing instead on the words and the ex-boyfriend who had inspired her to redo a sappy Bruno Mars song.

" _Now you'll never,_ never _get to clean up the mess you maa-aade_

 _I bet that haunts you every time you close your eyes"_

People were cheering! Sansa faced the crowd, opening her eyes after her outpouring of emotion as she continued into the chorus. A group of young women stood by the stage and were singing along, raising their lite beers to her, cheering whenever her changed lyrics focused on what it felt like to leave behind a shitty ex. She glanced back at Robb, who grinned at her as he continued to play. If his hands were free, she was sure he would have given her two thumbs up.

It was time to slow down now. Energized by the crowd, Sansa slipped towards the front of the stage, singing to the three women who had raised their beers to her.

 _"Girls, I hope he buys you flowers, I hope he holds your hands"_

Sansa crouched and took the one girl's hand, and the "wooo!" she erupted in sent her confidence sky-rocketing.

 _"Hope he gives you all his hours when he has the chance_

 _He'll take you to every party because I know how much you love to dance_

 _He'll do all the things that asshole shoulda done when he was your man"_

Standing up fully, she gazed out into the crowd, making eye contact with a man at the bar at random. She couldn't make out faces that far away against the glare of the stage lights.

 _"He does all the things you coulda done when you were my man"_

The crowd exploded with applause and Sansa couldn't help but grin like the cat that got the cream at her brother. Now, Robb really did give her two thumbs up before joining in the applause. The song wasn't the most high-energy, but damn, had it been a good choice. "Thank you Winterfell!" Sansa called into the mic, placing it back into the stand as she faced the crowd. "It's wonderful to sing here tonight in New York City!" She stepped away to take a sip of water, and before she knew it, Robb was on the electric guitar, playing one of his original songs, one that she knew the words to. From there, it was all came naturally, and the rest of her performance was a blur of adrenaline and beauty.

Before Sansa knew it, it was time to take a break. The MC ushered her off stage and she was led to the bar, where her father sat. He immediately stood up the second he saw her and scooped her up into a bear hug. "You're doing _wonderful_ , Sansa," he said to her, holding her at arm's length now.

Ned Stark, the owner of Winterfell, was a tall man like his children. He wore his hair long, almost to his shoulders, and had for at least thirty years now. Broad, prone to wearing black, and covered in tattoos, he was the image of an aging eighties rocker. And while slim, feminine Sansa was different from her father in appearances, he meant everything to her. Her relationship with her mother was even closer. "Thanks, Dad," she said with a shy smile. Of course, Sansa lived for praise, but that didn't mean it embarrassed her any less than the average person.

Robb handed her a glass of white wine and clinked his craft beer against it. "To your first show," he toasted, and the two each took a sip, though Robb's was more of a gulp.

Sansa only had twenty minutes before her final set, and Ned made sure she was plenty busy making the rounds and talking to people. All of it was a blur, and she only had five minutes at the end of the intermission to run to the bathroom in the manager's office, located fairly close to backstage. In the bathroom, she fixed her hair, applied another coat of bright pink lipstick – she didn't care if people thought it clashed with her hair, she liked it – and knocked back the remainder of her glass of wine. The combination of alcohol and adrenaline gave her a buzz that left her more than excited for the rest of the show. Sure, a fairly popular local band would be on shortly after her, but one day she would have people opening for _her_. Sansa certainly hoped and even dared to have a feeling that that day was coming soon.

Leaving the wine glass on the sink, she left the bathroom and then the office, glancing down at her phone to see that she had a ton of notifications and only three minutes now before she had to be on stage. She was so busy replying to a text from her best friend, Jeyne, that she nearly collided with a man standing in the shadow outside of the office. "Ooh! Sorry!" Sansa cried, dropping her phone onto the distressed hardwood floor.

"The fault is mine," the man said, bending to pick the phone up. He had graying hair that had once been dark, which was all she could see until he stood back up and handed Sansa her iPhone. "I apologize for startling you." The way he said it, though, made Sansa doubt him. He certainly had been waiting for her outside of the office.

The man wasn't particularly tall, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Sansa, and slight, too. Still, he cut a fine figure in his dress pants, collared shirt, and tie, the colors of which Sansa couldn't make out in the dim light of the concert hall. "Your performance tonight blew me out of the water, Miss Stark."

 _So he knows who I am_. Really, it wouldn't have taken a lot of work, though, if he had been watching her. After all, she'd run straight out of the first set to hug her father and talk to his friends. "Thank you," she said, only mildly startled now.

"I only wonder, are you signed yet?"

Sansa blinked, pleasantly taken aback. The whole point of coming out tonight was to impress a talent scout who might sign her to a record label. "I haven't," she informed the man. "Which label are you from?"

His smile was sideways as he informed her, "Oh, I'm not from a label." His flicked a card out of, well, Sansa wasn't sure where. It seemed to suddenly just appear in his hand, as if by magic. She took it and glanced down at the writing. _PetyrBaelish. Agent._

"O-oh." Sansa hadn't thought about an agent. She hadn't thought about any of it, really, aside from tonight and then what it might be like to record an album.

Suddenly, Robb popped into the hall from backstage. "Come on, Sansa," he called. "We're on in thirty seconds." He glanced at Baelish, then popped backstage again.

"I've got to go," Sansa said. Not wanting to be rude, she made a show of putting the card in the back pocket of her skinny jeans. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Baelish."

"Thank _you_ ," Baelish insisted with a small nod. "I hope to hear from you. And please, call me Petyr."

 _* BEEP BEEP BEEP *_

There was nothing more annoying in the world than Sansa's alarm tone, even at twelve noon. She fumbled for her phone to switch it off before groaning and burying her head beneath her pillow. Her ears were still ringing from last night, not to mention the fact that she was suffering from a major headache and a case of dry mouth. After the show, she and Robb had stayed at the bar, and plenty of new fans had bought her drinks. She'd probably done three too many shots of Fireball. Maybe five too many.

But it didn't matter how hungover Sansa was. For now, playing shows, even at places like Winterfell, wasn't paying the bills. Neither were any of her other three jobs, either, if she was being honest. She was lucky enough to have semi-rich-and-famous parents, but again with the nepotism… Sansa insisted on making her own way whenever possible. If her parents had taught their children anything, it was work ethic.

Sansa finally got out of bed and headed into the kitchen of her apartment to attempt to eat breakfast. She passed Jeyne, who was sleeping on the couch, as usual. Jeyne, too, worked quite a few jobs, and some nights she was too exhausted to make it from the front door all the way to her bed (a whole twenty feet away) and so she just crashed on the couch in her work uniform. "Christ, Sansa," Jeyne complained, rubbing her eyes. "I heard your phone go off 900 times last night. _With_ the door shut and everything. Who was calling you?"

"Pretty sure you were hearing things, Jeyne," she said, proceeding on her way.

Three struggle-filled bites into her bagel thin, Sansa was surprised by Jeyne plunking her iPhone down on the dining table. "Look," she insisted. "Told you so." Sure enough, Sansa's phone display showed multiple unread iMessages, missed calls, and e-mails. She had slept right through them.

It was annoying how nosy Jeyne could be sometimes, but she meant well. Sansa shrugged her behavior off before reading through her notifications. Most of the messages were congratulatory or questioning texts from friends and family all about last night, but there were a few messages form new contacts, too. Somehow, Petyr Baelish had tracked down her e-mail (though maybe wasn't the most difficult of addresses to find). She also had a message from one Robert Baratheon, CEO, Fury Records.

 _Holy fucking shit._

Sansa dropped her bagel. It made a rather non-dramatic thump against her plastic plate. Thankfully, it landed cream cheese side up.

To be fair, Sansa wasn't as shocked as most would have been to receive a message from Robert Baratheon. He was, after all, her dad's old friend. The two had opened Winterfell together and still remained fairly close. They rarely saw one another, but Sansa knew that Ned and Robert considered the other their best friend. Still, to think that the CEO of Fury Records had reached out to _her_ …

This was too good to be true. She clicked on the e-mail, ignoring the constant banner notifications from Twitter. (Apparently, #SansaTakesWinterfell had trended in the tri-state area last night, some time after that third Fireball shot.) While being a trending topic was plenty exciting, an e-mail from Robert Baratheon took the cake.

What followed was short and sweet, though beneath it was a rather interesting electronic paper trail. Apparently, Mr. Baratheon had been so excited to talk to her that he'd tracked down her e-mail himself, not through one of his talent scounts, but through Ned. They'd spent about three e-mails each reminiscing about the old days (Sansa had _not_ needed to know about the Acid Trip of '77) before Robert finally remembered why he had e-mailed his old friend in the first place and then accidentally forwarded the entire chain to Sansa. Oh, Baby Boomers and technology.

 _Sansa – I hope you're doing well. Actually, I know you are, from what I saw at Winterfell last night. Call me when you get this. I have something I would like to discuss._

 _Robert Baratheon_

 _CEO & Owner_

 _Fury Records_

How did one keep it quiet all day about getting an e-mail from Robert Baratheon?! _He wants to sign me!_ Sansa found herself thinking all day at her waitressing job. She was on hostess duty, and as she sat customers and consulted the seating chart, she composed lyrics in her head. _My first album should have twelve songs_ , she decided. _And two bonus tracks, like, if it generates enough interest._

Her phone burned a hole in her pocket the entire shift, and on bathroom breaks she checked it to text her dad for advice. _Can I call him tonight? Is that too late?_

 _It's never too late with Baratheon_ , Ned assured her. He also sent two emoji – a microphone and a winking face. He had just discovered the little yellow smiley faces and was convinced using them made him look "with it."

Finally, Sansa was done with her shift. She knew she couldn't wait any longer, and so it was in her car, from the parking lot, at nine-thirty in the evening that she called Robert Baratheon on his direct cell phone and her entire life changed.

Four nights ago, Sansa had performed at Winterfell. This morning, she was on a plane headed to LAX.

Getting out of her shifts had been a nightmare, but the way Sansa saw it, _this_ was her future. Not seating grumpy customers who barely tipped, not slinging drinks in booty shorts, not crooning at a jazz club full of gray-haired businessmen with creepily winked at her. _This_ was her calling, and she would give up anything in the world for it. Jeyne also worked at the restaurant, so she'd picked up her hours there. The bar let her go without a second thought – long-legged girls were a dime a dozen in New York. As for the jazz club, well, Sansa hadn't even bothered calling them. She'd shot off a text to the owner, who she was ninety percent sure didn't know how to text back.

Traveling was exhausting, but Sansa had survived the past week or so on adrenaline alone, and so she felt rather fresh once she checked into her hotel. Still, she showered, hydrated herself, and dressed in her most business-like but still casual attire. She had heard that L.A. was extremely laid-back, and of course, she wanted to sell her brand. For a moment, she wondered whether or not she should have an agent or manager to help her out during a time like this. She'd left PetyrBaelish's card in her skinny jeans, though, and that was the only contact she had. Besides, something about her bothered her, somewhere deep down in her gut.

Right after Sansa was done dressing and blow-drying her hair into a soft, tousled look, a black car arrived at the hotel to take her to Fury Records. In the car ride over, she was surprised not to be a bundle of nerves. Perhaps Sansa was already getting used to everything. It helped, of course, that her parents were both in the business, as well as her two older brothers in some way or another. She certainly had the experience and knew what she was to expect and ask for at a meeting like this. Jon had signed with Fury Records quite a few years ago, though he hadn't ever put out a second album, and her father was constantly negotiating with performers at Winterfell. Her mother also had experience as a singer.

When the car pulled up, Sansa was shocked at how quickly the door opened. Was a doorman waiting for her? She hadn't expected such promptness and attention to detail in Los Angeles. When she glanced up at the man holding the door open for her, though, she was surprised to see that he wasn't, in fact, a doorman. He was dressed in street clothes – a pair of fitted shorts and a plain white T-shirt with immaculate sneakers. He wasn't tall, perhaps her height, but something about him… The blonde hair, the surprised blue eyes, the lopsided grin? Sansa felt her heart race and her mouth go dry. _It's Joff._

"Oh, my bad," the young man said, stepping away from the door and allowing Sansa room to exit the car. "Thought this was my ride." He gallantly reached out and took Sansa's hand, helping her from the vehicle. When she stepped out, he held her hand for a second or two longer than was necessary.

 _Oh my God. I'm holding hands with Joffrey Baratheon!_

Joff was a pop star, and perhaps the most idolized one by tweens, teens, and twenty-something women alike. He was about Sansa's age with blonde hair and a cocky grin, and his songs were meant for dancing your ass off, either that, or crying alone into your ice cream with. "Crossbow Shot (to My Heart)"had been on repeat on her gym playlist for the past month.

"Quiet, aren't you?" he asked, and though it was cocky, it was also charming. His smirk was infectious, and Sansa felt herself smiling back. "I'm sorry I tried to get in your car, if you're waiting for an apology."

Sansa laughed, he voice finally coming back to her. "Just a misunderstanding, no worries. I'm coming and you're going. It happens."

"You're coming, are you?" That smirk again! Was he making a risqué joke? Sansa blushed and bit her lip, racking her brain for a witty response.

"I'm Joff," he offered, reaching out his hand to shake hers, as if she would have no idea who he was without introduction. "And you are…?"

Again, they were holding hands, though this time just to shake them. His grip was firm, his smile perfect and white and straight. "Sansa Stark," she told him.

"Ah, Stark!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "You're Ned Stark's daughter, here to talk to my father about a record deal."

 _A record deal!_ Sansa had to try very, very hard not to squeal. Of course, Robert had told her on the phone a few days ago that he wanted to fly her out, talk with her, and record a single as well as her "When I Was Your Man" cover. She'd hoped that that would progress into a deal for a full album, but hadn't dared to dream. "Yes, that's me," she confirmed, keeping her cool as best as she could. With as good of a disinterested glance as she could muster, Sansa gazed up at the windows of the building before her.

"I should let you go," Joff said, and Sansa felt herself missing him already. "Don't want you to be late for your appointment, though a gorgeous woman like yourself… Well, I'm sure my father wouldn't mind." Sansa smiled at his compliment, willing herself not to blush.

"How long are you in town for?" he asked offhandedly as he stepped into the black car.

"Oh, uh, I don't know," Sansa stammered. _Nice going, Stark._ "However long my business takes me." She stood taller than him now, but even staring down at him, Joff was gorgeous.

"Hmm, mysterious," he said, and Sansa truly _did_ feel mysterious and special in that moment. "Well, if you're still here tonight, might I take you out for a drink? There's a great place in Pasadena that I'd love to take a pretty redhead to."

"Oh, well," Sansa managed to flirt back, relieved that she'd finally found her cool. She shuffled from side to side, pulling at her yellow skirt, patterned with images of birds, playfully. "I suppose I'm free tonight. For a little bit, at least."

Joff smirked, pulling his black iPhone from his pocket. "That's what I like to hear." He handed her his phone, a blank text message already brought up. "Just put in your number."

Sansa typed hers in, then, boldly, sent herself a text so she would have Joff's number too – just in case. Feeling flirtatious, she went to open up his emoji to send herself a kissy face. She was flustered to realize that he did not have the emoji app downloaded. "New phone?" she asked, settling for a _"to the hot redhead"_ text instead. "No emoji."

Joff shrugged as she handed him his phone back. "I don't like smiley faces. Unless they're on a gorgeous girl like yourself." He winked. "See you later."

"Bye." Sansa waved, feeling like a freshman who just got asked to the homecoming dance by a varsity football player as Joffrey shut the door and the car pulled away from the curb.

Sansa's phone buzzed and she glanced down at it. _to the hot redhead_ , her phone read, and beneath that, _make that to the BEAUTIFUL redhead_.

Sansa took a deep breath and turned around, marching towards the doors emblazoned with the Fury Records logo. She felt like she was floating on Cloud 9, but there was no way she could survive her meeting with Robert Baratheon if she swooned right here on the spot.

And so, she held her head high and power-walked her way into the foyer, using confidence to chase the butterflies in her tummy away.

Sansa Stark had been in L.A. for three hours. JoffreyBaratheon, pop star sensation, _People_ 's 14th Sexiest Man Alive, had asked her out. And now, she was going to get a record deal.

Forget Joffrey making _People_. Rolling Stone, Sansa said to herself, _here I come._


	2. Ned: My Baby Shot Me Down

Chapter 2 "My Baby Shot Me Down" Ned

Ned had never been more proud of his oldest daughter. Last night was her public debut and she had stood on the stage and sang as though it were as easy as breathing. She sounded like an angel, too. Robert had kept shooting Ned glances the whole time she was performing. Best friends since they were ten, Ned could understand Robert without a word. _Oh my God, are you seeing this? Ned, why didn't you tell me about her sooner? I can't even fucking believe this._ Finally, when Sansa was done her six songs, three per set, and tonight's main act went on, Robert sidled over to the bar to use his words. Ned sent a lager Robert's way as he settled himself on a stool.

"I'm so glad you replaced those stools we bought back in 1981," Robert said as he grabbed the beer. Ned and Robert had opened Winterfell together back in 1980. The two had pooled all their money to buy this abandoned warehouse in (insert neighborhood). They had had just enough money left for a bar and a stage. It had been standing room only until they splurged and bought bar stools about a year after opening.

"Robert, I've replaced the stools three times since then," Ned replied, picking up a dishcloth to continue wiping the bar down.

"If you say so, Ned. Look, I gotta get back in there to watch this next act. What was their name again? House of the Undying?" Ned nodded and Robert sighed.

"They sound like bloody hipsters. Whatever. Gotta go to work. Anyway, I want to sign Sansa. Swing by the offices tomorrow and we will have the paperwork ready to go. You know my usual starter deal. One album, one countrywide tour, renegotiate at the end of two years. Two million base pay plus royalties and a percentage of the concert tickets sold. Talk it over with Sansa and Cat, but I figure I'll see you tomorrow at Stannis's Manhattan offices around noon. "

"Sounds fair, Robert. Thanks." Ned extended his hand and the other man shook it while draining the rest of his beer. Robert ran his hand through his long, dark hair and nodded. He grabbed another beer from Ned before walking back to his favorite table on the left side of the stage.

When Ned finally rolled into his bed some time around four in the morning, he was surprised to find his wife, Catelyn, awake.

"Good morning, sweetheart, I didn't expect you to be awake," Ned said playfully, pulling Cat into his embrace and kissing her neck.

"What did Robert say?" she asked, cutting right to the chase. Ned let her go. She was loaded for bear. No matter what he said this was going to turn into a fight. Might as well have it out now.

"He wants to sign Sansa. Two years, one album, one tour, two million plus royalties and a percentage of ticket sales. His basic starter offer."

"I don't want her to sign."

"Catelyn, she's nineteen. It's not our decision. She's going to go tomorrow, she's going to listen to Robert's proposal, and she's going to decide if she wants to sign. You know she has wanted this for a while."

"She's too young, Ned. Younger than I was!"

Catelyn had been the first artist Robert had ever signed. Ned still remembered the night they met like a movie he had seen a dozen times.

Winterfell had been open perhaps six months. Robert had come up with this idea to have a weekly karaoke night. It turned out to be a great idea. Winterfell was packed on Wednesday nights. Catelyn Tully was fresh off the bus from Ohio to visit her sister, Lysa, who had married a much older man and moved to the big city. Cat was in New York to see Lysa and Arryn's new penthouse and because she missed her sister. She hadn't seen her since the wedding and frankly, it was lonely at the farm with just her parents. Lysa had dragged Cat to the newest hot spot, claiming that she "just had to see this place." After about three shots of liquid courage, Catelyn had decided to give karaoke a try.

 _I was five and he was six  
We rode on horses made of sticks  
He wore black and I wore white  
He would always win the fight_

The second she started singing, Robert's head whipped around to see who the hell was on the stage, suddenly at attention. Ned was also at attention, some parts of him more so than others.

 _Bang bang, he shot me down  
Bang bang, I hit the ground  
Bang bang, that awful sound  
Bang bang, my baby shot me down_

She stood there in a cream-colored cotton dress that was almost sheer against the stage lights. Her dark red hair was unbound and flowing free down to her waist. No makeup, no jewelry, save an anklet that looked to be made of hemp. She couldn't have looked more out of place at Winterfell. She looked like some elfin forest creature, not a rocker.

 _Seasons came and changed the time  
When I grew up, I called him mine  
He would always laugh and say  
"Remember when we used to play?"_

The second she started singing, Ned knew he was in trouble. He needed to know who this woman was.

 _Bang bang, I shot you down  
Bang bang, you hit the ground  
Bang bang, that awful sound  
Bang bang, I used to shoot you down_

She was squinting against the stage lights, gripping the mic just a bit too tightly. She wasn't entirely comfortable up there. But she wasn't running away either.

 _Music played and people sang  
Just for me the church bells rang_

 _Now he's gone, I don't know why  
And 'till this day, sometimes I cry  
He didn't even say goodbye  
He didn't take the time to lie_

Ned glanced at Robert, whose mouth was slightly ajar, but Ned could tell from that one glance that Robert wasn't going to be competition. Robert preferred blondes. No, Robert's interest was purely business. Ned relaxed a bit and allowed himself to enjoy the rest of the song.

 _Bang bang, he shot me down  
Bang bang, I hit the ground  
Bang bang, that awful sound  
Bang bang, my baby shot me down_

"But she's not you, Cat," Ned replied, even though he wasn't quite sure of that argument. He knew was Cat was afraid of, and if he was being honest with himself, he was afraid of the same thing. He had found the empty glass in the office Sansa was using as a dressing room. He knew she had been drinking wine before the show.

Catelyn, being the young, naive, barely twenty-one-year-old she was at the time, had been easily schmoozed by Robert. Barely any effort on his part. She signed with Robert and Fury Records the very next day.

What Robert and Ned didn't know - couldn't have known - was that Catelyn was horribly afraid of crowds and public performances. The only reason she had sang that night at all was because she was drunk, it was only one song, and everyone was doing it since it was karaoke night.

Recording an album was no problem for Cat. She was alone in a room singing to herself. It wasn't until she went on tour that liquid courage became a necessity. At first it was only a few beers, then a bottle of wine, and eventually, an entire bottle of whiskey before she was drunk enough to numb her fears and walk on stage.

Eventually, Robert had made her go to rehab. Catelyn had been sober since 1988.

Cat sighed deeply, pulling Ned back to the present. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him.

"It's hard to let them go," she admitted to Ned's shoulder.

"I know, darling. But wouldn't it be nice if Sansa didn't have to work eighty-seven jobs to pay her rent?" Ned asked Cat's hair.

"It's only three jobs," Catelyn argued.

"That's still two more than a nineteen year old should have," Ned countered. "Oh shit, I forgot Sansa works tomorrow." Ned practically threw Cat out of his arms as he jumped out of bed and searched the pile of clothes in his corner of the room looking for his pants, and more importantly, his cell phone.

Ned deftly opened his email. It was one of the few functions he was familiar with. Technology was wasted on him for the most part. He found the last email he received from Robert and hit Reply.

 _From: Ned Stark WolfLord  
To: Robert Baratheon  
Subject: The Summer of '89_

 _Robert,_

 _I'm an asshole. I forgot Sansa is working tomorrow. Can we reschedule? Or do you want to meet tomorrow night? You're welcome to come to dinner._

 _Ned_

"Isn't it a bit late to be emailing him? It's almost five in the morning," Cat asked from the bed.

"Nah, he never sleeps," Ned replied as his phone vibrated in response.

 _From: Robert Baratheon  
To: Ned Stark WolfLord  
Subject: The Summer of '89_

 _Ned,_

 _Shit, man. I'm only in town until 5. I fly back to L.A. on the 5:43 flight. Uhhh... how about you give me Sansa's email and I'll just get in touch with her directly. I'll probably have to fly her out to L.A. Is the Mrs. cool with that? Or does Sansa need a permission slip?_

 _Robert_

 _P.S.- Did you see Petyr sniffing around Winterfell tonight? What a tool._

"What are you snickering about?" Catelyn asked.

"Nothing," Ned choked out. He couldn't admit to either mean thing Robert had said, since Petyr and Catelyn were childhood friends.

"You're mocking me, aren't you?" Catelyn raised an eyebrow at Ned in the dark.

"I'm not, but Robert is. Take it up with him."

"You two are such children," Catelyn sighed as she rolled over and away from Ned.

 _From: Ned Stark WolfLord  
To: Robert Baratheon  
Subject: The Summer of '89_

 _To The Man Who Just Got Me In Trouble,_

 _Her contact information is (917) 555-8032. Let me know how it goes._

 _The Guy With Blue Balls_

 _P.S.- Who the hell spells Petyr like that? What is he, from the Netherlands or something?_

Ned woke up alone in bed some six hours later. He could hear laughter and smell coffee emanating from the kitchen.

His phone was blinking eagerly at him. Email. Robert.

 _From: Robert Baratheon  
To: Ned Stark WolfLord  
Subject: The Summer of '89_

 _Blue Balls,_

 _Peter wishes he had seen Catelyn's Netherlands. Lol._

 _:P  
Big Balls_

Meh. Ned hadn't had his coffee yet. He would answer later.

His phone was still blinking. He investigated. Text. From Sansa.

 _Can I call him tonight? Is that too late?_

 _It's never too late with Baratheon._

 _I should add some of those little tiny pictures I can't really see_ , Ned thought to himself. He squinted at the available list. A microphone and a smiley thing. _Looks good_ , he decided, and headed into the kitchen.

Catelyn wasn't there. She was probably at Winterfell already overseeing the morning deliveries and counting last night's take.

Arya was sitting at the island feeding her Belgian Shepherd, Nymeria, bits of toast and eggs. Bran was tucked into the kitchen table, writing in a notebook. His Husky, Summer, was curled next to his wheelchair.

Rickon, his youngest son, was at his youth soccer league's Saturday meet. Ned would stop by on his way to work in about an hour. Rickon's Golden Retriever, Shaggy, was sunning himself in the pool of warmth the skylight let through.

Ned poured himself a cup of coffee. Black.

"Arya, did you finish your homework?" Ned asked. Arya started.

"Almost," she said guiltily. Arya had had problems with authority in the past. Ned and Catelyn had allowed her to leave high school a year ago at sixteen as long as she agreed to a private tutor and to get her GED. Lately, though, Arya's grades had been slipping.

"I told you, from now on, if you don't finish your homework, you don't go to your 'dance lessons,'" Ned said, as sternly as he could.

Arya ducked her head. "Yeah, okay Dad," she said as she and Nymeria went into her room.

Ayra wanted to join the UFC like no other. Ned was helping her keep her martial arts classes a secret from Catelyn until Arya decided to tell her. Publicly, they called them "dance lessons". Ned had been urging her to come clean soon though, since it was only a matter of time until Cat became suspicious or wanted to go to a recital.

The coffee tasted a bit bitter. Like someone forgot to rinse the pot.

Ned wandered over to Bran, looking over his sixteen-year-old son's shoulder as he sipped his coffee. Bran was drawing. Looked like blueprints.

"Is that Winterfell?" Ned asked.

"Yup," said Bran proudly. "I figured out a more space efficient way to organize the stock room. This will free up about 20% more space. We could add another freezer here."

Ned was admittedly impressed. "That's brilliant! Good job."

Bran beamed. Ned was hesitant to encourage this too much. Bran had earned his GED two years ago when he had his accident that rendered him paralyzed from the waist down. Bored out of his mind in the hospital and then at home while he recovered, he had passed the GED tests in record time. He was going to have his associate's degree in Business by the end of this year as well.

Which meant that Bran was already thinking about the next thing. He was still a minor though, so it wasn't as though Ned could take him on in the capacity that Bran was hoping for. It was a fine line he was toeing, between encouraging Bran and squashing his ambitions. He just hoped he was doing the right thing.

Ned had stopped by Rickon's game just in time to watch him score the first goal. Ned stayed for the first half, then walked to Winterfell to get ready for the Saturday night circus. He made a pit stop at The Wall on his way there.

The Wall was one of the shittiest dive bars in New York. It was basically a shed with some twinkle lights thrown up for ambiance. The owners were two stoners in their late sixties. But this was where his oldest son, Jon, spent most of his time.

Ned spotted Jon at his usual corner table with Ned's second oldest son, Robb, and the boys' best friend, Theon. Robb and Theon smiled and waved when they saw Ned. Jon's brooding expression never changed, though he did nod in acknowledgement.

"Hey Ned, want a beer?" Mance, the one owner, called from the bar.

"No thanks, Man, just here to see my boys," Ned replied.

Ned plopped down in the extra seat. "How's it going?" he asked them.

"Not so good," Robb said, nodding at Jon. Ned counted six empty beers on the table.

"What happened?" Ned asked.

"They found him not guilty," Jon whispered, staring at his beer bottle but definitely not seeing it.

"Oh," Ned replied. About eight months ago, Jon's girlfriend, a former waitress at The Wall, had been hit and killed by a drunk driver on her way home from work. A teenager named Olly Something-or-other. Jon had been avidly following the trial.

"Has he been home at all?" Ned asked Theon and Robb.

"Not since yesterday morning," said Theon. "J and Mance said he slept here because they couldn't move him, so they just locked the place up with him in it."

Ned sighed. "Come on then, let's get him home."

Theon and Robb helped Ned scoop Jon up under the arms and hoist him to a standing position. Together, they half dragged, half walked Jon the block and a half back to the apartment he shared with Robb and Theon. Robb tossed Jon in the shower still half dressed and turned the cold water on. They heard Jon groan behind the curtain before they heard a thud as he sunk to the floor.

"Jon, you better not drown yourself in there. Robb and I can't afford the rent on our own," Theon yelled from the living room.

Ned went in and sat down on the toilet. He could hear Jon's muffled tears mixed in with the rain-like sound of the shower.

"Son, I'm sorry to hear about the kid. That's a rough blow."

"He was seventeen. He was Arya's age. He had no business having a blood alcohol level of .45. He had no business driving. How did they find him not guilty? How?" The sound of Jon's raw, broken voice nearly broke Ned's heart.

"I don't know, son. Sometimes justice is not always served." Ned heard the water shut off.

"Throw me a towel, Dad."

Ned tossed a towel up and over the curtain rod. A minute later, Jon emerged, wet, curly, black hair plastered to his neck, eyes bloodshot, pale as a polar bear.

"Why don't you come to dinner tonight?" Ned offered.

"Thanks, Dad, but I don't feel like dealing with Catelyn tonight. I'm not in the mood." Jon was Ned's son, but he wasn't Catelyn's. Ned had had a weekend long fling with a woman named Whitney shortly before he and Cat got back together, after her stint in rehab. Whitney was not a part of Jon's life though. It had always been Ned and Jon, and Cat had always resented that a bit. While not overtly mean to Jon, Catelyn had always been cold.

"I understand," Ned said. "Look, Jon, I want to talk about this some more, but I have to run."

"It's okay, Dad, I'm not suicidal or homicidal or even really mad. I'm just kind of numb. I won't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry, Dad, we have him covered," Robb called from the kitchen between bites of his sandwich.

"Make sure Jon eats something that isn't beer," Ned called as he left the apartment.

Winterfell was only eight blocks away, so Ned walked the rest of the way, enjoying the mid-afternoon sunshine. Catelyn was standing outside the main door talking on her cell phone as Ned walked up.

"No, Rickon, I am not making a lasagna for dinner tonight... I understand that you won your game and you are very hungry, but I do not have time to make a lasagna... No, I am not ordering you a whole lasagna from the Italian market either... Yes, I am very proud of you... Fine, if you can somehow talk Arya into making you a lasagna, we can have lasagna for dinner. Okay? I'll talk to you later." Cat flipped her ancient phone shut.

"Want to bet Rickon is going to get that lasagna?" Ned asked her. "One dozen chocolate covered strawberries and sex tonight says he will."

"You're on," Cat said. "But if I win, I want a massage and frozen yogurt."

"No sex?" Ned raised his eyebrows. Cat shrugged.

"Are you still mad about last night?" he asked. Frankly, he wasn't sure what part of last night made his wife angry. He was sure it wasn't justified, but she had definitely taken offense at some point last night and clearly Ned had not apologized correctly.

Catelyn didn't answer. She just walked inside. Ned sighed and decided to drop it for now.

Wednesday night, Ned was anxiously checking his phone like a teenager waiting for a response to a risky text. He pushed his lasagna around his plate, too nervous to eat it. Arya had produced a lasanga on Saturday night that looked like it was prepared by a catering party. They had been eating away at it for the last four days and there was still more than half of it left.

Ned checked his phone again. Nothing.

"Ned, she will call when the meeting is over. She's probably still in there," Cat called from the sink where she was washing dishes, seeming to know telepathically that Ned was glancing at his phone again. At least Catelyn didn't seem angry with him anymore.

6:47pm...that meant it was 3:47pm in L.A. The meeting was at three Pacific time. Ned reasoned that they were probably still talking.

Cat came over and cleared his plate without asking if he was done. She divided the leftover lasagna between Nymeria, Shaggy, and Summer. Arya was in her room doing homework, Rickon was at soccer practice, and Bran was out with his friend Meera.

"I had no idea Arya could cook," mused Catelyn as she transferred the leftover lasagna to a smaller pan to save some room in the fridge. "That was a pleasant surprise."

"Yeah," Ned said absently, still staring unblinkingly at the phone. He had a pretty good idea where the lasagna came from. Arya had a friend from her "dance lessons". Gerry or Gendry or something like that. He was older. About Sansa's age. He went to culinary school. Arya often talked about him when Ned picked her up.

Just then the phone chirped. Ned practically dove out of his chair.

"Hi sweetie! How did it go?" Ned practically screamed into the phone.

"Dad? Hey, is Mom there? Can you just put me on speaker phone?" Sansa's voice had never sounded further away to Ned.

"Yeah, sure honey...okay, you're on speaker phone now."

"Oh my god, Mom, Dad, I JUST SIGNED A CONTRACT WITH FURY RECORDS! AAAHHHHH!"

Summer, Nymeria, and Shaggy's heads cocked to the side as the sound traveled and Ned was very thankful that the phone was not next to his ear as his oldest daughter shrieked her happiness.

Arya poked her head out of her room and shouted, "CONGRATULATIONS, SIS. DON'T GET TOO DRUNK TONIGHT!"

"THANK YOU ARYA!" Sansa responded and Arya disappeared again.

"When do you start recording?" Catelyn asked.

"Within a month," Sansa replied. "Robert said we are going to record six covers and release them all as singles over the next few months. Depending on which ones become most popular, we will design an album of original songs around that sound."

"That's wonderful," said Ned. "What did your contract look like?"

"Robert said it was his basic package, but since I don't write original songs, we have to figure out what sort of thing we are going to get me to sing...but guys - I haven't even told you the best part yet!"

"What's that, love?" asked Cat.

"I HAVE A DATE TONIGHT WITH JOFFREY BARATHEON!"

"Oh baby, that's wonderful! Did you pack a cute outfit or are you going to need to go buy one?" Catelyn asked, seemingly unperturbed by this declaration.

Ned didn't even hear the response. His stomach had fallen to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. Sansa had a date? Sansa had a date. That's what she said. But what did that mean? Ned hadn't felt this sick Friday when she had her first show, or today when she flew out to L.A. on her own, or just a minute ago when she said she signed a contract that included a national tour next year. That only meant that she was a grown up now. But this, this was not one of the semi-supervised trips to the movie with one of the boys she went to high school with where they might have kissed a bit before one of their parents picked them up, or the prom, or a day trip to the beach. No. This was a whole new game. This was a date with a grown man across the country who also happened to be a wealthy celebrity. Ned felt like he might be sick.

 _Bang bang, that awful sound  
Bang bang, my baby shot me down._


End file.
